


A Kiss From A Rose

by Val_Creative



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Femslash, Femslash Friday, Pining, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 07:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13026072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Margaery wafted into Sansa's teenagedom like a breath of fresh air, wearing expensive, green stilettos and diamond necklaces during the country faire, laughing as if nothing had ever been wrong with the world.





	A Kiss From A Rose

**Author's Note:**

> **Further warnings for brief unwanted sexual touch (done by male character).**
> 
> I took part of the [GOT/ASOIAF Secret Santa](http://gotsecretsanta.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr this year and uhhh the event and mods are great and fantastic and wonderful... I'm just saddened by One Specific Thing. But you know what, I set out to make something nice for someone so I can say I did that! Hope the person I was assigned gets to see this! I'm hoping that my fellow SansaMargaery shippers enjoyed this and thanks for reading! Any thoughts/comments are very much appreciated! :)

 

*

There's barely a sliver of moon among the thick, dark patches of clouds.

Sansa mentally curses the humidity, and all of that stiff, sticky air, toting along her old-fashioned Polaroid and raising it to her eye when she catches a glimpse of Margaery's dangling, golden rose earrings.

She's only here for Margaery — _everybody's_ only here for Margaery.

There isn't anything else in the backwoods, surrounded by too many churches (all pledged to the Seven, no doubt) and too many drunks wandering the bridges and rovers, too far from the nearest Capital. Margaery wafted into Sansa's teenagedom like a breath of fresh air, wearing expensive, green stilettos and diamond necklaces during the county faire, laughing as if _nothing_ had ever been wrong with the world.

A boombox thuds onto a ledge, kicked on. Sansa finds herself approached by one of the lesser known men in their ragtag group, speaking to her in soft, alluring syllables. When he leans into her, she leans out.

Florian's thumb and forefinger plucks absently at one of the blue-and-white daisies sewn into her white fishnets. They're scattered on the outsides of her bare, snowy-pale thighs, miniature and fake and plastic. Florian presses his entire hand between Sansa's legs, urging them open, grunting and breathing hard.

Her eyes wander to the vacant, black street between Wolf Auto Parts and the Crossroads Inn. She tunes him out, biting her tongue, replacing the sensation of his fingertip rubbing her underwear with the build of pain.

A sharp, clapping noise.

"Florian, _darling_ ," Margaery trills out, smiling widely and clasping her hands in front of her. She's illuminated brilliantly underneath the streetlamp, with flawless, golden-brown curls half-pinned up, and her golden-brown eyes. "I need you. Won't you come here for a moment?"

Florian obeys, stumbling forward and grinning as if lovestruck.

Thank god. Sansa observes, confused, as Margaery's smile fades into something _sharper,_ thornier.

"If I ever see you near Sansa Stark or near me after tonight," she says cheerfully, girlishly, "I'll personally rip out your heart and feed it to one of my horses. Is that understood?"

With that, Florian turns red and sputters, taking off into a run across the blacktop.

"You look like you need this," Margaery tells her, her face softening with concern. She presents out a bottle of liquor in a brown bag, and Sansa takes it gladly, chugging a mouthful of apple-flavored whiskey.

"Don't you need his car?" Sansa asks, coughing.

 _Bloody awful stuff_.

She nods as the rest of Margaery's friends hoot and scream out indignantly, tossing beer cans in the direction of Florian speeding out with his convertible. "We'll find another way home," Margaery says quietly, joining the other girl on the rickety old bench, clasping her knees with both hands. Sansa lowers her eyes bashfully. Even Margaery's knees are petite and _lovely_ , shaped so round above her slim, muscular legs.

"Am I beautiful, Sansa?"

Margaery's question, curious and low, quivers a flush of hot heat into Sansa's tummy.

"… _huh_?" Sansa's mouth hangs open a little.

The other girl laughs, and _laughs_ again, her dimples popping against her rosy cheeks. "In your pictures, you silly goose," Margaery explains, gazing towards to the Polaroid camera. "I've noticed you taking them."

Sansa blushes and grimaces, flattening her lips.

"I'm sorry… I should have asked you first about it."

Margaery grabs onto the camera, holding it up and turning it on them. "It's alright, Sansa. I've got the _perfect_ one in mind." When she leans in, Sansa tentatively leans in as well. She blushes harder as their cheeks and chins push together, as Margaery bounces in place and eagerly snaps the photo.

There's no time to blink out the remnants of the glaring, white flashbulb, when Margaery's lips nudge warmly against Sansa's cheek, and another photo snaps nova-bright, searing into Sansa's blue eyes.

Maybe that's all this is… whimsical and impermanent like the fresh, spring-rose air.

Margaery is here.

That's good enough for her.

*

 


End file.
